


Poetic Discipline

by Percygranger



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: 2017 backlog, BDSM, Corporal Punishment, Domme Carolyn, Gen, Impact Play, Introspection, Sub Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: Martin gets what he needs from Carolyn.
Relationships: Martin Crieff & Carolyn Knapp-Shappey
Kudos: 2





	Poetic Discipline

Martin bent over, hands to the wall, and waited for the pain to begin. 

She often made him wait, of course, going from hopeful anticipation, nervous delight, to something darker. His breath ratcheted up as she walked behind him, inspected his offering of himself, arse thrust in the air like a wanton animal, unable to control himself in the face of heat. 

This wasn’t the case, of course, they’d talked, weeks ago, and renewed their agreement earlier today, but that didn’t stop the feelings Martin had. Carolyn didn’t even have to say anything, her slight tsking as he moved reprimand enough. He froze with shame, then flinched as the crack of the belt sounded behind him. It only ratcheted farther up, almost to panic, when no pain resulted. Was she going to hit him at all, or just leave him here, unsupported, unpunished-

The first hit was a relief as much as a surprise. Martin gasped, almost soundless, his open mouth never having the chance to close as Carolyn kept going, a flurry of hard blows, rocking him towards the wall, the pain building as each lash covered the next, until Martin couldn’t help but make a noise. A sob? A groan? 

The only response to that was that the belt moved down, catching his thighs, tender and stinging. Martin locked his legs, unwilling to crumple under the assault. He deserved the pain, of course, as due retribution for his many faults. He wasn’t one to shy from his just desserts. He took his lumps, even if he had to dole them out himself.

Carolyn had noticed the signs, had been the one to imply his self-chastisement wasn’t quite...appropriate, and that an outside hand would hit harder, care more fully, and as she had mentioned, give him a co-pilot of sorts. So that when he collapsed, his body unable to follow the iron of his mind, there was someone to keep going. To make the judgment call he sometimes fumbled. To decide if he’d suffered enough. 

As much as he’d like to count, to speak, telling his faults and mistakes to the walls, to Carolyn’s uncaring ears, he had learned the only way to endure this cacophony of pain was to breathe as best he could, even as the first part ended. He had tears in his eyes, one half of his backside burning like the forest fires he had seen on the telly. 

They’d decided on at least two parts today, hard and fast, mimicking the situation he’d fumbled so badly on their last trip. And so she didn’t let him calm down, only moved over, positioning herself to better reach his other side with her dominant hand. 

He trembled a bit, trying to prepare for more, and closed his eyes as the belt came down again, the deep, stinging slap of it a harsh balm. It hurt, of course, that was the point. Atonement always cost something, and since he had no money, he paid with his body, his suffering. Sometimes he wished the wall wasn’t there, so he could fall, a sprawling awkward mess, looking as pathetic as he often felt. 

Carolyn had insisted on it, though, wanting a clear sign that he could endure no more, as he sank down, unable to keep himself upright. But they weren’t at that point yet, so Carolyn continued, switching sides, renewing one fire as the other burned itself out, slowly. Martin was crying now, deep ugly sobs at the pain, each hot/cold tear feeling like a release. He could make himself cry during self-punishments, but never like this, never so purely, without hesitation. Carolyn was beating him whole again, shoring up the cracks in his character with a welder’s torch made out of leather.

The beating slowed, becoming more precise, even as he burned everywhere. It didn’t take long for him to collapse, although it felt like an age of “one more, just one more”, and Martin grimaced as his heels contacted his arse, pressing burning marks into his skin. Carolyn had stopped once his downward slide began, always alert for changes. She gripped the back of his sweaty neck, hand warm and firm against his chilled skin. 

“Do better, be better,” She said, a simple command. 

Martin nodded, hiccupping, the shaky breaths of his sobs starting to fade. 

“You endured more than I thought you would,” she said, tone caressing him with tantalizing approval. “Remember, no matter what, you’ll end up back here. Even if there’s nothing wrong, just to keep you in line.” 

Martin shivered at the thought of being punished for nothing, just Carolyn’s cool attention, her hot whip against his flesh. “Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am.” He said, meaning it with all his heart. 

“Stay here for a bit, reflect on what you’ll do better next time, then find me. I’ll get you squared away.” She turned, allowing no real time for a response.

“Yes’m,” Martin murmured, feeling more peaceful than he had in a week, his backside burning like an ember, his hands laid over his thighs. He was whole again, the belt and her words jarring him into the right shape at last. This was where he was meant to be.


End file.
